Page 122 of Severance

“Can you please come down now?” I step closer.

“Why?” He turns to look at me, his eyes bloodshot.

“Because I don’t want you to jump.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

His gaze roams around my face as he sits there, still as a statue.

“Please come down.” I draw my hands from my pockets and wipe my wet cheeks.

Mikah swings the other leg over the ledge to face me and rests his elbows on both knees. “Why are you telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”

My emotions clog my throat and all I can manage is a pathetic headshake.

“I can’t compete with him, especially now that he’s dead. And I can’t read your fucking mind. If you can’t explain why you said what you said, how do you expect us to work?”

I gulp past the knot in my throat and rub at my watery eyes. “I don’t want you to compete with him. You’re a different person. What we have is different. And I love you differently. I want to be there for you and with you.”

I have no clue what I’m thinking when I jump at him. All he has to do to end this is lean backward and let go. And I think part of me wouldn’t be too upset if we both fell, but I still throw my arms around his neck and pull him to me. “Please, don’t jump.” My whisper muffles against his hair. “Please don’t.”

We tumble over, away from the ledge. He eases into me and snakes his arms around my frame, his face buried into the crook of my neck. His body is rigid and warm against mine, his heartbeat strong.

“I love you.” My sobs are loud and endless and I don’t remember the last time I bawled like a baby. Not after the night at The Crystal Room. What I do remember is how it feels when I’m on the floor with shards of glass in my face and palms, with my cheeks and hands bleeding. “Please don’t scare me like this again.” I cry ugly. I cry for Dakota and for the other twenty-three people and for their families and for all the candles my father lit at church every single Sunday after the attack. I don’t know if Mikah’s broken like me or in a different way, but I can feel his sadness and I know he understands mine, and I want to do whatever is in my power to help him get better. “Please don’t scare me like this…” My words are mixed with my sobs and sound like drunken slurs…and it fits us. We’re blissfully miserable in our pain.

“You started it.” Mikah cradles my head. “You jumped out of a moving car, weirdo.” His voice is a hot rasp near my ear and he’s trembling, but his embrace is comforting. It’s not the embrace of a person who’s going to jump off a seven-story building. It’s the embrace of a person who’sscaredto jump off a seven-story building.

“I won’t do it again if you promise me you won’t get on any ledges.”

“I won’t,” he agrees.

“Okay.” I pull back and touch his wet face with my fingers, and then I kiss him everywhere—his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, his dimple. I don’t care if his hair’s on my tongue. “I love you. I’m sorry I’m so weird. I’m sorry…”

“You’re my weird, Cupcake Queen,” he mumbles against my lips. “You’re my weird and I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that…don’t say that.” I shake my head. “You belong with me. You’re not going anywhere.”

* * *

“Hey, rockstar!” Al’s chalky voice penetrates the misty Seattle air. “Are you all right? You want anything?” He steps out onto the roof and marches toward us. The expression on his face is a strange blend of relief and agony. I suspect he’s happy his shiny new toy didn’t jump, taking the money his label’s planning on making along with him, and perhaps he’s a little upset over the excessive exercise.

I watch him from the corner of my eye with my arms wrapped tightly around Mikah’s body. My cheek is resting on his broad chest, and I’m terrified to let go. Everything between us changed in a matter of seconds, and it feels different to hold him now. Desperately exhilarating and painfully beautiful. Knowing he’s not what he led me to believe is a relief. He’s not made of stone and paper. He’s flesh and blood like me and he feels everything, every second of every day. He’s reliving it all the same way I do, and in a sick way, it seems as if we’re made for each other. To fill each other’s gaps that exist where we’re broken and where our hearts shattered.

“You scared everyone, big guy.” Al wipes the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and moves closer. “It’s a full house tonight, buddy. I hear Ned Morton’s here.”

Mikah draws back a bit and runs his palms over his cheeks. His eyes are bloodshot but curious, and I have a feeling Ned Morton is an important man.

“I’ll make you a star, boy,” Al says proudly, his gaze sweeping over to me for a second and then to Mikah. “Just don’t do this to me again. Deal?”

Mikah gives him a curt nod. “Yeah, sure.” His voice is weak. He seems withdrawn and somewhat lost, but I know it’s his protective mechanism. He likes to build walls around himself.

“You take your medication? You need anything?” Al throws his hand over Mikah’s shoulder and nudges him toward the staircase exit.

Grabbing Mikah’s hand, I glance at the glimmer of the fading horizon. The night sky has blanketed the city for as far as the eye can see. As we follow Al silently, my heart’s still out of control, restlessly hammering in my aching chest.

The people hanging out in the staircase watch us with judgment, shock, and curiosity. Al’s footsteps thump down heavily as he continues his pep talk on our way downstairs, where Mikah locks himself in the restroom to clean up.

---